


Dirt Room

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ...But it's justified!, Crowley Being an Asshole, Crowley Has Mother Issues, Dungeon, Evil Crowley, Forcefully mute character, Gen, Hell, Past tortured character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley hates his mother. A short interaction between the two while they are in Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirt Room

The pained moans of punished souls, the stampede of a million feet moving forward, the rattling of chains and cackling of demons, ones possibly enjoying themselves a little too much: these were the sounds of Hell. His Hell. His home.  
Crowley whistled a tuneless tune, musing about the sounds in his domain, strolling proudly, with an air of cruel confidence, towards a distinct distinction. He sauntered past cells, racks and down endless dank corridors; his heavy footfalls echoing about him as he travelled. He continued listening, pondering, until his expensive shoes came to a stop in front of a iron barred door leading to a lonely dark chamber, isolated from the rest.  
This one was rather important...  
Rather important to him.  
With a flick of a wrist the door creaked open on rusting hinges, adding to the ancient, decaying and eerie atmosphere that all the dungeons in Hell possessed. The small, damp cell, walls stained with crimson and dirt  
brown, was home to just one person, chained to the wall and curled into the darkness.  
Such a lowly creature, the demon thought loudly.  
"Hello Mother."  
The said creature raised their bloodied and bruised pale face to glance up, unemotional dark eyes glaring defiantly but if the faint tear tracks were anything to go by, the glare was falsified.  
Crowley smiled with sadistic glee as he gazed upon the weak form of his mother, the bitch... Witch even, that he had once spawned from, but the man whom had been her son was not the man, or rather creature, he was now. The human Fergus MacLeod and Demon Crowley were two very different things. Crowley had cold, calculating confidence that Fergus had never possessed, and Fergus had uncontrollable, ravenous emotions that had drown him until his death. Mushy, useless, messy feelings that the demon didn't have to feel ever again.  
The fact was: they were very, very different now.  
Yet, they did share a few similarities, they were one and the same, after all. Even through his demonisation one thing had stuck, something that had stayed: his deep, insatiable hatred for his mother.  
And this was why he grinned with such malice as he saw her, enjoying seeing her suffering, her pain... Finally being able to smother the thoughts of inadequacy and betrayal that had plagued him for centuries because of her. He knew he had extreme Mummy issues. He knew he was all kinds of messed up because of her. Her... She didn't even deserve to have a name, not anymore.  
He stepped into the enveloping shadows of the chamber, eyeing the minute twitch the woman produced as she pressed harder into the wall, trying to push further away from him.  
He liked that.  
His whore of a mother was scared, fearful of him; that was how it was meant to go.  
No more mocking. No more power plays. No more manipulation.  
She was powerless and will forever remain that way: eternity... rotting, withering, in her own little dirt room... A dungeon just for her.  
"Well, well Mother. How goes your damnation?" He quips jovially, shielding her from the light as his shadowed outline covers her. She didn't deserve to see the light.  
Well, she didn't deserve anything.  
She opened her scarlet lips, but no noise came through them and he smirked sinisterly, maliciously. She'd forgotten...  
Forgotten he'd pulled out that lying, manipulating tongue of hers.  
She couldn't say the sweet nothings, the mockingly fake proclamations of love or play on his transparent good graces, no more. She couldn't make a sound, not even a pained croak, so glowered at him with at much fury as she could muster.  
To this, he laughed. A gravelly, deep chortle that rebounded around the empty halls, mixing with the distance echoes of lamenting wails and agonised screams.  
When his voice finally died down and creeping silence descended between the two he just flashed the sick smirk of his.  
"I hope you made yourself comfortable, dear, as I'll enjoy every moment of your slow descent into insanity..." He bit his lip at the thought, savouring it. "You deserve nothing less..." He cooed, he felt pleased at the slight blink of hurt in her large eyes. He hummed to himself, he'd had enough sadistic satisfaction for one day.  
"Ta ta, Mother." He said and without a second glance, he turned on his heel and walked out. The chamber door slamming and locking as he did. He smiled to himself before strolling back down the never-ending hallways of his kingdom.

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble and title inspired by Dirt Room by Blue October.


End file.
